


Wretched And Divine

by abovetheserpentine



Series: Cruel Or Kind [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Established Relationship, Famous Harry, Famous Liam, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Misunderstandings, Musician Liam, Rimming, Solo Artist Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 19:04:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9398780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheserpentine/pseuds/abovetheserpentine
Summary: “We always joked about it, you know,” Liam sighs, swirling the dregs of his beer around in his glass. Ellie looks at him, her face pitying and sympathetic and all the things Liam hates to see in his friends. They did enough of that before Harry – they don’t need to do it now, too. “Turning thirty.”Not everything is as Liam predicted it would be.





	

**Author's Note:**

> me: this is gonna be so cute and fluffy i'm so excited  
> me @ me: why do you lie to yourself
> 
> ANYWAY, here was the anonymous prompt on tumblr that inspired this mess: i need the fic where liam turns 30 and harry takes the piss the whole time like he said he would on their first night together :) :)
> 
> Of course, I'm a monster and made it into a plotty 13k heap of angst because I can't help myself. I'd apologise, but I'm not even sorry. 
> 
> Title comes from the Hozier song _Jackie and Wilson_.

**2018**

 

Liam’s breathing heavily, the hair at his temples damp with sweat. Harry’s laughing breathily beside him, cheeks flushed and mouth obscenely red. Liam’s dick gives a valiant twitch at the image, his heart panging because he’s so very in love.

He doesn’t realise he’s smiling until Harry brings a hand up to graze at his eye crinkles, his expression fond.

“Twenty-five years old,” Harry states, like they hadn’t just spent the last few hours confirming that fact with their mouths and their hands and their cocks. He raises his eyebrows, a cheeky grin on his chapped lips, “Five years until thirty, Liam.”

Liam looks away, smiling as he rolls his eyes.

“Making it a countdown’s gonna negate the effect,” Liam tells him as he swings his feet over to rest on the carpeted floor of Harry’s bedroom, “Of the teasing, I mean.”

A weight settles on his back, and he feels curls brush his cheek and neck, Harry’s arms coming around his shoulders to slide down his chest, settle somewhere near his abdomen as Harry bites his ear, playful. 

“Never,” he says through a light laugh, his breath hot against the side of Liam’s face. Liam fights off a shiver, his skin erupting into goosebumps, “You love my teasing.”

Liam holds back a smile, shifting to the right so he can turn his head to look at Harry.

“I love _you,_ ” He explains, eyes searching Harry’s face, darting from pink lips to green eyes to sharp jaw and back again, “The teasing’s just something that comes with it.”

“Hmm,” Harry hums as Liam turns away to slip on some boxers, pleased close-lipped smile on his face. One of his hands takes Liam’s jaw in his grip and tugs him back, their eyes locking. He leans forward to take Liam’s lips in his, a tender kiss that leaves him breathless, his heart pounding out a beat in his chest, consistent and fast, like it can’t catch up to Liam’s feelings. “Come back to bed.”

Liam kisses him again, slow and easy, before standing. Harry nearly topples over, glaring at Liam once he regains his balance.

“I’ve got a meeting, Haz,” he explains with an amused smile, running a hand through his messy hair. Harry couldn’t take his hands out of it, squirming and moaning when Liam was licking over him. “And you’ve got that interview.”

“Fuck the interview,” Harry announces jovially. He reaches up and pulls at the waistline of Liam’s boxers. Liam shuffles forward for fear of hearing a rip and having to deal with that whole issue. “In fact, better yet,” Harry’s hands pull at Liam’s arms until Liam’s hunched over, palms sliding over shoulders until they get to the nape of Liam’s neck, urging Liam forward until their lips brush to whisper fervently, “Fuck _me._ ”

And, well - Liam’s never been able to say no to Harry.

When he turns up to the meeting with Lucy later, she takes one look at his glassy eyes and red mouth and laughs, Liam blushing all the while.

“Harry distract you again?” she says, because it’s not really a question so much as a statement, “I swear, you two are insatiable.”

“Piss off,” Liam grumbles, but the way he has to bite down on a grin belies his good humour. “It’s my birthday.”

Lucy just looks at him, an amused smile on her lips.

“I don’t know how you’re going to survive when he goes on tour,” she comments idly, pushing some documents in front of him, “Are you sure you don’t want to join him?”

Liam rolls his eyes, his cheeks still burning as a fluttery feeling takes seat in his gut.

“What’s that Trekstock event, then?” He asks flippantly, ignoring her knowing look and settling in to do some actual work.

If he’s still a little distracted throughout the meeting, that’s no one’s fault but Harry’s - the memory of his face when Liam pushed inside him; the memory of his palms on Liam’s cheeks, reverent and full of adoration; the memory of his green eyes, locked with Liam’s as he came, shuddering, around his cock.

 _Definitely Harry’s fault,_ Liam thinks, skin feeling tight and hot. _Menace._

 

***

 

**2023**

 

“S’August, Liam,” Harry slurs, wide hand settling on Liam’s exposed back. His thumb rubs back and forth slowly, and the last thing Liam wants to do is get out of bed.

Liam grunts, burying his face into his pillow. The bed shifts as Harry gets up, his hand sliding off. Liam turns his head and barely opens his eyes to see Harry’s naked shoulders, broad and muscular, hunch over, elbows on his knees as he runs a hand through his tangled curls. He looks over his shoulder at Liam and gives him a tired smile, face wan and puffy in the early morning light.

Liam closes his eyes and settles more deeply into the bed, Egyptian cotton sheets like a soft cocoon, a physical lullaby that puts him right back to sleep.

When he wakes again hours later, Harry’s side of the bed is still unmade and the house is empty. Jelly’s outside, but when she sees him through the glass of the back wall of the house, she starts barking up a storm, tail wagging with excitement. Liam lets her in, bending down to give her good morning pats and accept only one stinky kiss on the face, a twinge of annoyance jolting through him at the fact Harry never fully trained it out of her. He pushes it aside, though - it’s not Jelly’s fault, and that fight seems ages old now, something he only brings up when he’s tired and stressed and hates that Harry’s smile reaches his eyes when Liam can hardly make one at all.

He’s got the day off today, but it’s hardly a day off when Liam’s got to go grocery shopping. Maybe he’ll ring up Eleanor - she’s always a good distraction. Although, Liam realises, she’d probably rather spend her day off with her girlfriend than with Liam. Begrudgingly, he realises he’d be best to hit up one of his single friends.

 _els,_ he taps out, _got a bit of grocery to do. want to come over after?_

The thumbs up emoji she sends in reply fifteen minutes later is all the answer he needs, Liam in ripped jeans and a t-shirt as he pockets his wallet and swings his keys in his hand. 

He drives the Batmobile, as Harry likes to call it with a scrunched up face. The thought makes Liam smile, huffing out a silent laugh as he pulls up to their local Waitrose, knowing he’ll likely get papped but not really having the energy to care when he just needs to buy their food and be on his way. He knows he committed to this life when he and Harry moved in together, but sometimes he just wants to go to the shops in joggers and a vest and not have to worry that some arse at _The Sun_ will spin a story about how he’s lost himself or some other shite like that.

He’s got half a trolley full of vegies and fruit and lean meat and all those things he and Harry used to shop for together - flirting all the while - when he’s so distracted by the thought of maybe buying some twister ice creams for old time’s sake that he nearly crashes into an unsuspecting patron. He balks, pulling his trolley back sharply. 

“I’m so sorry, honestly. My apologies, I was…”

He trails off when the woman turns to look at him, and her face is blank in shock before a polite smile takes over. She’s got a basket almost full, and the both of them are standing in front of the frozen goods aisle like a couple of people who just ran into their ex.

Because that’s what they are.

“Dani,” Liam starts jerkily, unable to put a coherent thought together. Her hair’s not quite as curly now - more of a tight wave - but it’s just as dark as it ever was. Her brown eyes are lit up, and the smile on her face looks genuine and happy. She looks good, Liam thinks, and then feels inexplicably plain in his jeans and t-shirt. She’s wearing a nice dress, something summery because the weather’s quite nice today, and there’s a ring on her left hand that makes Liam’s breath catch just a tad, “Wow. This is… wow.”

She laughs, and Liam remembers the years between them like it’s flashing before his eyes in his last moments.

“Liam,” she says, and her surprise still laces her tone, “It’s so good to see you.” She comes forward to peck him on his stubbled cheek, her basket stopping her from doing much else.

“Right,” Liam stutters out, unable to believe what’s happening, “Of course. You, too. How’ve you been?”

Her face breaks into a breathtaking smile, and Liam thinks it’s rather unfair that she’s still so attractive even after all this time. His heart doesn’t do anything other than beat at its normal pace, but he can acknowledge that she’s almost more beautiful than he remembers, her skin glowing and her cheeks rosy.

“I’m… I’m great.” she replies, and he sees the way a hand settles on her stomach, maybe a tiny bit more pouched than usual given she’s a professional dancer. 

“Oh!” Liam starts, smiling, his hands coming up in his surprise, “Oh, Dani, that’s incredible!” Liam gulps, his heart feeling a little heavy now. Harry would be ecstatic, even if Danielle is Liam’s ex-girlfriend. “Congratulations.”

Her eyes shine with her smile, and she thanks him quietly, flushing in excitement at the thought.

“We’re actually celebrating,” she says, and Liam realises her boyfriend - husband - is probably about the store. He’s thankful she’s warned him, even if she doesn’t see it that way. “Going for a picnic in Holland Park. Proper romantic.”

Liam smiles at her the best he can.

“What about you, though?” She asks, her face clearing, eyes curious, “I saw you in the papers. Can’t believe you shacked up with Harry Styles.”

Liam laughs, and if he didn’t know it before he knows now that they’re well and truly done by the way Danielle laughs with him, unable to detect the wryness in his tone. He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly feeling hot.

“Yeah, well,” Liam utters, smiling as he looks down at his shoes, a scuffed pair of somethings Harry bought him years ago, “Didn’t expect it myself.”

There’s an awkward pause where Liam knows he’s meant to act happy and enthused and all the things Danielle is. When he looks up, she’s not frowning exactly but her expression looks unreadable, something he doesn’t recognise from over ten years ago.

 _Christ,_ he thinks, _has it been that long?_

“You alright, Liam?” She asks, and her ringed hand comes up to rest just above his elbow, gentle and tentative, “You don’t look well.”

Liam laughs and pulls away his arm as politely as he can.

“I’m fine, really,” Liam urges, eyes flitting over her face before looking somewhere over her shoulder, “Just tired, yeah? I’ve got to keep on, actually.” He gestures down at his half-empty trolley, and Danielle seems to understand easily enough, pleasant smile returning. “But it was good to see you.”

“Definitely,” she confirms, pushing her hair out of her face. Her pale yellow dress looks brighter in the sunlight. “George’ll be waiting at the register, probably.”

They say their goodbyes, and then Liam dumps a box of twister ice creams in his trolley. Harry will have to deal with the extra time Liam puts in at the gym to combat this indulgence, because suddenly and irrevocably Liam feels like nothing sits right.

When he gets home later, Jelly jumping all over him in her joy, he texts Ellie to come over. She gets there barely twenty minutes later, groceries stored away and Jelly a nagging mess of a dog. Her hair is longer than it’s ever been, straight and sleek and brown. Her freckles seem stark on her pale face, and Liam feels guilty that he hasn’t spent more time with her, not when Andy was such a twat and she’s just got out of a long-term relationship, hoping for much more than Andy ever gave her.

“I’m really sorry, Els,” He says, bringing out the lead. Jelly’s tail goes mad, and she’s looking up at him like he’s the best thing she’s ever seen, “But I’ve got to walk her.”

Ellie smiles, something small.

“S’alright, Liam. It’ll be good. I’ve been hiding away marathoning _Big Brother._ ”

“You know you can always give me a ring, yeah?” Liam tells her as Jelly takes them through the streets of Kensington, “ _Bake Off_ ’s a lot better than _Big Brother_.”

Ellie snorts, brushing her hair away from her face. She’s wearing jeans, like him, and some sort of fancy top. She looks better than she has in weeks, and Liam feels like maybe things aren’t so terrible for her right now.

“And intrude on your and Harry’s foreplay?” She rolls her eyes, smirking at him, “No, thanks.”

Liam blushes, because he always does, but he changes the subject quick enough.

It’s pleasant, even if Liam feels like walking aimlessly through the streets of London somehow aptly represents his own feelings, a poetic irony he feels lacks any sort of sophistication.

He still feels out of sorts when Ellie leaves after a few beers once they get back to the house, Jelly now lounging on the couch with her head in Liam’s lap. He puts together a dinner for two, putting the second portion into a container in the fridge; tries to write something and fails, and instead showers and hops into bed early, letting Jelly sleep on the bed in a rare display of loneliness.

Well, rare that he shows it, anyway.

 _August,_ Liam thinks sleepily, hand scratching under Jelly’s chin, _I’ll be thirty soon._

His thoughts trail off into vague flashes of skin on skin, promises years in the making, and the consuming darkness that appears at the edges of his vision.

 

***

 

Ellie sends him a text the next day, and Liam reads the article in bed that morning, sheets in disarray and Jelly nowhere to be seen.

 _This is fantastic,_ she’s sent him, _I forgot what hanging about with you meant!_  

The article’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, a headline reading _Marriage woes? Liam Payne gets domestic with TWO mystery females!_ with pictures of the two of them walking Jelly, her large form front and centre with Liam holding her lax lead, Ellie smiling next to him. Below that are pictures from a distance of him in Waitrose, and of course they’ve captured the exact moment Danielle put a hand on his arm. Of course.

It’s not so much the article that gets him riled up - over the years, people have always speculated. He’d never given them notice, because it felt like letting them win in a way, and Liam hates paps so much that he’s petty enough to feel like it’s a case of winning or losing.  

No, the article talking about Danielle in vague terms - _beautiful brunette_ \- and about Ellie and their history - _seen with Payne on multiple occasions_ \- doesn’t bother him so much. It’s the related article that has his heart freezing in his chest, the skin above his upper lip a little sweaty. 

 _Styles Parties In Style - ALONE!_  

It’s only the shock of Niall’s naturally brown hair that eases Liam’s frantic jittering as he ignores Harry’s drunken smile and red eyes.

There’s a group of them, a few Liam recognises and a few he doesn’t. Nick’s about, which isn’t unusual, but the emergence of someone new in a few shots - his large hand resting on the small of Harry’s back - makes Liam’s blood run cold.

 _Stop it,_ he tells himself, exiting out of the site and sending a _haha !_ to Ellie. _It’s nothing._ Just the papers. They’re always writing about them, surprised the two of them have been together this long; some sort of zoo exhibit they’re fascinated by. Liam knows that pictures aren’t what they seem - the pictures of him and Danielle are evidence enough - but somehow he can’t quite shake the thickness in his throat and the trembling of his hands.  

He’s not really sure what he does the rest of the day - there’s the scribble of words on paper, something ripping and Liam shoving it in a closet - but when Harry gets home around nine o’clock that night, Liam simply smiles at him, savouring the way Harry’s fingers trace Liam’s jaw as they kiss hello, his eyes bright and oblivious.

It’s the next night, after a few lazy kisses in bed, that Harry asks, “D’you want to come to the studio tomorrow?” His voice is gravelly, and a tingle runs up Liam’s spine, his cock vulnerable to the way Harry subconsciously changes his timbre even after all these years. Harry’s lips trail from Liam’s mouth across to his jaw, a sharp bite against the junction near his ear. Liam frowns, both at the surge of arousal that runs through him and the question.

“Tomorrow?” Liam echoes, and Harry pulls back to look at him, his eyes searching Liam’s face.

“Yes, Liam,” Harry says, looking at him like he can’t believe Liam even needs to ask, “I’ve got a song just finished.”

Liam’s gut churns uncomfortably, like the fish fried rice they had for dinner isn’t sitting well. Harry had cooked, the lime on his tongue a true indicator of that. Liam’s recipes aren’t nearly as elaborate.

“Can’t,” Liam says suddenly, and he doesn’t know what possesses him in that moment, because he definitely has the time to visit Abbey Road, even if it’s only for a half hour to bring Harry lunch, like he used to do when Harry was recording his last album. “Too much to do. Got a meeting with the label.”

Harry’s eyes keep searching his face, his hand still gentle on Liam’s jaw, thumb brushing at the right corner of Liam’s mouth.

“Alright.” Harry murmurs, and the heat between them dissipates. He presses a kiss to Liam’s lips before pulling away to turn out his bedside light. He doesn’t turn away from Liam, doesn’t show him his back - but the way his eyes shut even before Liam joins him says it all. Liam flicks a switch and leaves the room in darkness, his eyes adjusting enough to see the way Harry’s hands are up near his face, to feel like he should entangle their fingers but something in him stopping that urge. He thinks of the way Harry went out without telling him, of the way Danielle looked like the happiest person on earth in that supermarket.

Liam closes his eyes, and wishes he couldn’t think of those things at all.

The next week follows like the aftermath of a train wreck - everything is off, a result of those few days where Liam felt like his life was not his own. Harry went out that night after Liam was meant to come by the studio - he got a text about that, at least. Liam felt abstractly hurt from his place in front of the telly, the new Marvel film playing in front of his eyes. But he has no excuse - he declined Harry’s offer, he stayed home and bummed around and went to a meeting that only took an hour. He’s got nothing to complain about.

The worst thing about it all is that Liam can see the widening gap between them; can see the way Harry’s smiles turn from fond to polite as they sit opposite at the dinner table, can see the way Ellie looks at him in sympathy when he mentions something offhand about not seeing Harry as much. Liam can see the way Harry’s spending more time at the studio as Liam spends more time at the gym. It’s not unusual, per se, and that’s what makes it so easy. Liam can tell himself it’s just temporary, that the way they are now is the way they always are when one of them’s recording.

It’s not, though, is the thing. They make the time - they used to be desperate to see each other for an hour, even if that was all they could get. Harry’d call him during his breaks, rant and rave about how he couldn’t get a melody right. Liam would leave Harry little notes to read on those early mornings, would sometimes even wake up early enough to give Harry a parting orgasm.

Liam can’t honestly remember the last time they were intimate, excuses tumbling from his mouth to cover up the fact his skin felt itchy and wrong. Liam loves Harry - he’s loved Harry for ten years, and that doesn’t just go away. But something tells him maybe they don’t love each other like they used to, that maybe they’re not _in_ love anymore.

He spends the next week thinking about it, ignoring his Twitter mentions of sad faces in response to even more bullshit articles; he sits through a meeting with Eleanor and Sophia about the news to break in a week, and looks at the way they’re holding hands tight, kissing each other once they’re done with the semantics. He feels numb, and he knows better than anyone that that’s even worse than heartbreak.

Sophia invites him over on the fourteenth for their Coming Out party, something that involves only the three of them. Liam would make a joke about a threesome just to see Eleanor scowl, but he’s not feeling himself and so he doesn’t.

They’re a few glasses of wine in - “You’re the only one of us here still in their twenties, Liam. We’re introducing you to your thirties with class.” Eleanor told him with an eye roll when he questioned her - when the article hits, months of seeding a lead up to the headline _Eleanor Calder and Sophia Smith of trio Hush are in LOVE!_

“Congrats,” Liam cheers weakly as they snog, sculling the last of his wine, “Love that.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Sophia says breathlessly, pulling away and wiping at her mouth, “What are people saying?”

The tweets range from disgusted to ecstatic, and Liam scrolls past the crueller ones as fast as he can, not wanting to see his friends’ faces fall. He’s fairly used to doing this by now, and when Sophia asks him what it’s like, he just frowns. 

“Dunno,” he shrugs, swallowing a mouthful from his fifth glass, “S’bit weird. I don’t really look.”

“What do you mean?” Eleanor laughs, voice shrill after too many glasses of wine, “Harry tells me you look all the time!”

Something dark edges at the back of Liam’s mind, and he rubs a tired hand over his taut face.

“Yeah,” starts Liam, pausing a moment to gather his muggy thoughts, “Well, Harry’s perfect, isn’t he? Doesn’t care about all that. Meanwhile I go bonkers over one tweet.”

His voice comes out bitter toward the end, and he misses the way the two women glance at each other as he stares down at his hands, empty glass placed on the coffee table in front of him. Their flat’s far from their first in Lambeth; a studio style place in the thick of Soho. It suits them, and Liam suddenly feels old and weathered at the thought of his own house - aged and stylishly rustic, open plan… a house that he imagined starting a family in. It feels stale now, like a model house he’s visiting and not the only place he can really call home.

“Liam,” Eleanor starts hesitantly, and he looks up in surprise. She seems uncomfortable, and the concerned frown marring Sophia’s forehead makes Liam feel out of place, like he’s intruding on what should be a happy occasion. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t think I-” He blurts out, stopping himself before he tells a lie. He inhales deeply, eyes burning. “I don’t think Harry… I don’t think he loves me anymore.”

“Liam,” Sophia responds quietly, and Liam shakes his head before she can go on.

“No, I’m sorry. He loves me, I know he does.” They seem calmed at that, but Liam barrels on, “I just don’t think he’s _in_ love with me.”

There’s an awkward silence where Liam stares at the two of them and their frozen faces, the way their entwined hands are gripping tight, knuckles going white.

“It’s stupid,” Liam declares quietly, “Don’t worry about it, honestly.”

“Liam,” Sophia tries to say, but he shakes his head forcefully, eyes prickling.

“Forget it.”

He stays over in the end, too drunk to drive home and too famous for the bloody tube, even if it’s only a Monday night. Eleanor makes up his bed in the spare room with a shaky smile, and he’s thankful that they put on music to have sex because he can’t even muster up the glee to make fun of them the next morning.

He’s hungover that day, and spends most of it in the park with Jelly - confused, guilty, and absolutely desolate. He glimpses something about Harry being seen leaving the studio, and turns off his phone in a fit of fury, stubborn and refusing to take the bait.

That’s what it feels like. Bait. Like Harry’s shoving his life in Liam’s face, that stupid and loveable cheeky grin on his lips as he sings ‘This is my life, and you’re not in it!’. Liam’s tired, though. He doesn’t even feel angry anymore, or hurt. He’s just tired. And when Harry comes home early the next night and cuddles against him as they watch the new season of _The Great British Bake Off,_ his soft and sleepy voice providing astute commentary, Liam doesn’t bother to bring up how he’s feeling. He’d rather take Harry like this than no Harry at all, no matter how pathetic that makes him.

He feels a little better when Niall turns up a night or two later, his face open and smiling. Harry’s not here, though.

“What?” Niall asks, face scrunching up into a laugh, “Don’t be daft. We’ve got a date.”

Liam laughs, though he’s not amused in the slightest.

“Where’s he at, then?” Niall asks, following Liam into the house anyway. Jelly lifts her head from her bed, but is obviously too tired to give a proper greeting to their guest.

“Dunno,” Liam says, pulling a beer out of the fridge and handing it to Niall. He takes one for himself, and only continues after a long pull on the bottle. “Studio, probably.” 

Niall’s frowning, but his face clears quickly enough.

“S’alright,” he waves off, clinking his bottle against Liam’s, “You and I can have a laugh. Haven’t seen you in ages, Payno. Where’ve you been?”

Something about the way his head tilts curiously makes Liam stiffen up, shoulders tense and uneasy.

“Around,” answers Liam lamely, ignoring the raised eyebrow of the guitarist, “What about you?”

“Ahh,” Niall gets out after a gulp of beer, sitting himself down on the couch. The night’s cool, but it’s a pleasant coolness after the heat of the day, so Liam’s left the back doors open. Jelly gets up to sit with them, her snout nudging Liam’s thigh impatiently. He settles a heavy hand on her head, idly rubbing. “What good is this dog, hey? I rescue her and she barely even says hello. Feckin’ terrible!” The grin on Niall’s face belies his words, and Liam snorts before taking another sip.

“You don’t feed her, mate.” Liam explains as Jelly cuddles up into his side. He makes a huffing sound when her head lands heavily on his stomach. She thinks she’s a lap dog, but Liam knows greyhounds are too big for such a thing, even if Jelly doesn’t. He loves her though, and he owes her - so he allows it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall says, rolling his eyes before answering Liam’s question, “But I’ve been recording with Harry a bit. Goin’ out some. Preppin’ for the big three-oh. How’s that going for ya, by the way? Yours is in two weeks, yeah?”

Liam’s heart clenches painfully. He thought he’d know the exact amount of days by now, Harry bound to remind him every morning with a kiss and a smug smirk. Instead, he has to make the quick calculation in his head whilst Niall watches, pleasant smile on his face.

“Just under,” Liam answers after a long second, “Don’t have anything planned, really.”

Niall grins, big and boisterous.

“I feel that. Not sure what I’ll do myself.”

It’s easy, talking to Niall. He’s always been _Harry’s_ friend - Harry’s friend who taught him guitar, Harry’s friend who tours with him, Harry’s friend who probably knows way too much about their sex life if his innuendos are anything to go by. Liam’s always liked him, though; imagines that they’re friends, even if they don’t really hang out much one on one. So it’s nice to chat just the two of them, crisps Liam found in the pantry in a bowl between their thighs and a game of football playing absently on the telly after a few hours of ribbing one another senseless. 

“How’s Harry, by the way?” Niall asks during half-time. Liam feels his neck twinge at how fast he whips his head from the match in front of him. “Been a bit dreamy at recordings when I’ve been there.”

“Dreamy?” Liam chokes out, turning it into a laugh well enough that he disguises his shock.

“Yeah,” Niall chuckles, waving a hand around like it’ll help Liam understand, “Off with the fairies, like. Not really all that with it, sometimes.”

Liam takes a sip of his second beer, trying to go for casual. He’s not sure he succeeds with the way he fumbles the bottle, his cheeks burning.

“He’s fine,” Liam explains, though he doesn’t actually know. The realisation hits him like a sledgehammer to the chest, ribs aching and lungs struggling for air, “Yeah,” he croaks out, “He’s good.” 

Niall stares at him for a moment, beer half-way to his mouth as the commentators talk about new strategies and recent trades.

“Look-” he starts seriously, putting down his beer, but they’re interrupted by the sound of shoes on wood. Jelly lifts her head, sniffing the air, before she bounds off the couch in a spurt of unprecedented energy to meet Harry at the doorway, whining all the while. 

“Yes, yes,” Harry placates her, crouching down to scratch around her ears. She licks at his face with abandon, and coldness seeps into Liam’s veins, “Love you, too, Jellybaby.” His obnoxious leather pants encase his muscular thighs, and the white t-shirt he sports seems plain in comparison. It was humid today, hot and uncomfortable. Harry is fucking ridiculous. 

“Hey,” he greets quietly, eyes on Liam. They slide over and glimpse Niall, and he frowns before his eyes go wide, mouth open in surprise.

“Nialler,” he gasps, standing, “I’m so sorry. I completely forgot-”

“Don’t worry about it, mate,” Niall says, rolling his eyes with a grin. He puts an arm around Liam’s shoulders and jostles him playfully. Liam quirks his lips into an unavoidable smile. “Payno and I had a good time. S’no big deal.”

Harry still looks forlorn, like someone just told him Jelly got terribly ill, and Liam feels that coldness seep away, a tenderness sinking into his bones instead.

Niall stands, stretching with a loud groan.

“You don’t want to stay ’til the end?” Liam asks, also standing. Jelly comes over and nudges his knee. “The door’s open, you idiot.” He says fondly, pointing at the back door. She looks over, brightening before trotting out, sniffing amongst the grass.

“Nah,” Niall replies, pocketing his phone and his keys, “Haz’ll kill me.”

Liam looks to his boyfriend and sees him flush.

Niall leaves without a fuss, giving Harry a peck on the cheek and a push to the head before Liam hears the front door close, the two of them left with the sounds of crowds cheering and commentators getting too excited.

“What match is this?” Harry asks, eyes on the television as he walks over. Liam shakes his head, turns off the football with the remote. Harry stops a few feet away, biting his lip.

“It’s old,” Liam explains. Harry’s probably watched it with someone else, not bothering to wait for Liam - but Liam’s not feeling sad or unhappy about it. It just is, now. “You’ll have seen it.”

Harry looks at him.

“Right.” He says quietly, and his cheeks are no longer pink and healthy. He looks tired, actually - pale, with bags under his eyes. He’s been working long hours at the studio, Liam knows - _God,_ does he know - but he’s never seemed quite this stressed. Something in Liam surges up then, awakening from a deep slumber.

He steps forward to put a hand on Harry’s cheek, thumb rubbing under his eye. Harry looks flummoxed at the movement, curls a greasy halo around his face. They’re stagnant for a moment before Liam leans in, brushing his lips over Harry’s so softly it’s like he hasn’t done it at all.

Harry’s hands come up tentatively, fingers brushing behind Liam’s ears as he steps closer, their chests touching, lips firmer now.

They kiss for a minute or two, soft and slow and close-mouthed. Liam’s missed this, even if his heart aches a little. He’s missed the soft cradle of Harry’s palm on the nape of his neck, missed the way Harry can’t help but softly nudge his hips into Liam’s, obvious in his want. He thinks Harry’s missed it too, if the way he pants into Liam’s mouth is anything to go by, the suddenness of his tongue against Liam’s lips a pleasant surprise.

They pull away, staring at each other until Liam feels like someone’s staring at them. He turns his head, looks down at their voyeuristic dog, and holds back a smile.

“Jelly,” he says warningly, and she ducks her head and retreats to her bed. Harry chuckles, pulling Liam’s head back to give him a short, open-mouthed kiss. Liam pushes at Harry’s hips, guiding him toward the hallway before they part and he grabs one of Harry’s hands, pushing past him to pull him along behind, Liam feeling warm and jittery with need.  

Harry’s right up against his back when they get to the bedroom, bed made by Liam that morning in a fit of nervous energy. There really was no point, Liam thinks as Harry pulls down the collar of Liam’s t-shirt and bites into his shoulder.

Liam turns, twisting them in the same movement so Harry falls back onto the bed, his legs splayed invitingly and his mouth getting redder as he chews at it. He still looks pale, but the excited pink of his cheeks hides his exhaustion. Liam’s own beard feels unkempt, but it doesn’t matter - this is Harry, whom he loves. This is _Harry,_ the God damn _love_ of his pitiful life and somehow Liam thinks this is more important than any other time they’ve made love before. When Liam unbuttons Harry’s ostentatious leather pants and tugs them down his thighs gently, underwear and all, uncovering his lightly hairy legs… he’s not smiling or laughing or any of the other things that are usually a part of their love-making. Harry’s staring at him, mouth parted, chest rising and falling with every heated breath. When Liam takes off his own shirt, body hard and firm from all those extra hours at the gym, Harry doesn’t make fun of him, doesn’t say he should audition for the Baywatch reboot or anything he might normally say. Instead, he pulls Liam in by the waistline of his joggers, sliding them down in the same motion and exposing him to the cool night air.

His leans his forehead into Liam’s hard abs, his teeth grazing the skin above Liam’s navel. Liam moans, pulling Harry back by his hair and making his breath hitch, pupils blown wide with desire. Any other day, any other year, he might follow that desire - might take Harry by the wrists and grab some rope; eat Harry out until he’s begging, tears down his face at how desperately he wants to come. 

But this is not about that. Not this time.

Liam pushes Harry’s shirt up, palms sliding across the soft firmness of his stomach as Harry lifts his arms, lets Liam take off the garment and throw it somewhere away from them.

“Love,” Liam murmurs, taking Harry’s face in his hands, Harry’s eyelids fluttering prettily at the endearment, “Lie back.”

Harry pushes himself up the bed, covers shifting with him. He pushes one of the pillows away and grabs the other, shoving it quickly under his head, his cock getting harder by the second. Liam’s there already, the sight of Harry spread out on their bed enough to get him fully hard. It’s been weeks, it feels like, maybe even months. There’s no desperation bubbling under his skin, though, no itch he needs to scratch.

Liam moves over him, their dicks brushing, the both of them moaning at the contact. Harry’s mouth is mesmerising, his lips swollen and red, his tongue flicking out to lick at them. They’re a little chapped, and Liam gives them an absent bite, knowing that Harry likes the soft sting, the throbbing of raw lips.  

He opens Harry up as slow as he can manage, listening for the catch of his breath in his throat and the moans he lets out, short and embarrassed. This has always been Liam’s favourite part, looking at the way Harry squirms when Liam’s inside him, seeking relief but also never wanting it to end. It’s a tease Liam’s long perfected, and by the time he’s sweating with the effort of holding back his own arousal, Harry is babbling incoherent sentences, a mixture of _please,_ and _Liam,_ and long, drawn-out moans when Liam brushes against his prostate.

He shudders when Liam removes his fingers to circle his own cock, Harry grabbing the extra pillow and placing it underneath his arse. Liam adds more lube so that he’s nearly shaking by the time he lines up, Harry’s nails in his hips a welcome distraction from his overwhelming pleasure. It’s always good with Harry - _always_ \- but tonight is _unbelievable_ , a night Liam won’t forget even if Harry does. He pushes that irrational thought aside as soon as it comes, a long ago hurt that has no place here and now in this life they’ve lived together. That they’re _living_ together, maybe for the last time.

They moan in sync when Liam pushes in, breathing against each other’s mouths in the ghost of a kiss. 

“Oh,” Harry cries once their hips are crushed together, Liam’s abs trembling with the effort. He places a hand beside Harry’s head, the other at his waist. “ _God…_ ” His faces crumples in pleasure, and Liam moves his hips back leisurely before thrusting slow and deep, kissing at the corner of Harry’s right eye, tasting salt and not wanting to look, not wanting to see how Harry’s coming apart underneath him.

The room is silent save for their heavy breathing and the movement of their hips, the bed shifting in ways it only does when they’re like this. Harry stutters out moans at irregular intervals, one of his hands moving down to pull Liam in by the arse, head thrown back in rapture as Liam licks at his neck, taking skin between his teeth and leaving a bruise so red and raw Liam knows it’ll hurt days from now.

He doesn’t know how long they’re like that for - the steady rhythm of the backs of Harry’s thighs against Liam’s hip bones hypnotising, Harry licking at the sweat on Liam’s upper lip, the green of his eyes barely visible with the dark of his pupils. Liam feels the heat in his groin intensify soon enough, the slide of his dick in Harry an excruciating kind of heaven. He changes the angle slightly to keep Harry with him, and the whimper Harry lets out at that has his cock leaking against Liam’s stomach, wet and close.

He’s thinking of nothing else but the tight heat of Harry around him when he comes, groaning, choked off and vulnerable, into Harry’s neck, hips jerking into Harry with no rhythm or sophistication. Harry’s breath shudders, air leaving him in a whoosh of something as Liam feels him climax, his come coating both of their abdomens. He’s shaking, brown curls shivering with it, eyes closed and mouth open on a silent cry. Liam slips out of him and Harry’s still trembling, lids shut, a quaver in his breath.  

Liam will tell himself he did it for Harry the next morning, when he wakes alone again, sheets cold and harsh against his palms. He’ll tell himself he put his arms around his boyfriend to stop him from shaking, to help him into sleep even after his quivers faded into hitched breaths, finally evening out into a peaceful inhale and exhale. Liam will tell himself that, but he’s wrong.

He does it for himself.

 

***

 

“-then Lou went buck naked into the hallway, and-” 

“You’re telling it wrong, Zayn, _Jesus._ So I go out, dick and balls bare, and this guy seems well into me-”

Louis and Zayn continue in that vein for the next half an hour, detailing the humourous adventures of their holiday. Liam does his best to keep up, laughing when it seems like they want him to, and occupying himself with patting Jelly when his two friends stare at each other too long, soft smiles on their faces.

“Anyway, I sent out a strongly worded tweet and I’m sure people won’t be trying to feel Zayn up without his permission anymore.” Louis finishes, waving his hand away as he gulps down his vodka sunrise, his skin glowing with his new tan and the fingers of his left hand absently tracing Zayn’s right collarbone, collar pulled down to show his tattoos. 

Liam shares a look with Zayn, fondly exasperated.

“How’re you, though? Not a peep from you since we left.” Louis prods, narrowing his eyes at Liam. Liam chuckles into his own drink, just orange juice because he doesn’t trust himself anymore with alcohol. Best not to let himself get lost in it. He learnt that last time. “Where’s Harry, anyway? Thought that boy would want to hear all about my naked arse.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, pinching Louis’ thigh and relishing in his indignant squawk.

“Studio,” Liam gets out, clearing his throat as he stands, walking into the kitchen and fiddling with the snacks. He comes back to them a minute or two later, placing the chips and dip on the coffee table and nodding when Zayn gives him a questioning look. Of course they’re low fat, Liam’s not fucking _stupid._

Jelly sticks her nose as close as she can get it to the dip, and Liam pushes her away to help himself.

“Really?” Louis asks, continuing like Liam’s monosyllabic mood is encouraging just that, “Normally he’s home by four. Isn’t that why he goes in there so early, anyway?”

Liam pushes Jelly away again, annoyance surging up within him. 

“Well,” Liam starts, chewing and swallowing quickly, “He’s working hard.”

“I’ll bet,” says Louis, his voice grating and intrusive, “No doubt about to write another album all about you-”

“ _Angelica!_ ” Liam shouts, too loud and too angry for the room, Jelly cowering at the reprimand, scuttling away with her tail between her legs. Liam’s breathing heavily, glaring at the blob of dip on the ground, having fallen off Jelly’s greedy snout in her departure.  

His friends are silent, frozen at Liam’s outburst. Liam buries his face in his hands, throat thick with something he can’t name, shoulders tense and hurting. He feels bad for scaring his dog - _their_ dog - and the thought alone makes his chest tight, his breath coming in harsh inhales that he can’t reverse quick enough.

“Alright,” Zayn whispers, hands easing Liam back into the couch slowly, gentle and wary. Louis is still staring at him, “It’s alright, Li. Breathe with me, yeah?” He makes Liam lock eyes with him, showing him how to count his breaths, the right beat he needs to expand and contract his lungs to. Liam feels dizzy, sick with it, and he closes his eyes to continue by himself, one of Zayn’s hands rubbing at his shoulder consolingly.

“What the fuck’s happened?” Louis snaps, and Liam opens his eyes to see his face twisted into something ugly.

“Louis,” Zayn warns, “Shut up.”

He does, amazingly, his face still confused and mean.

“I’ll _kill_ him.” he mutters to himself, however, and Liam’s heart sinks.

“No,” he murmurs, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, “No, it’s not his fault. Truly. It’s just - he can’t help the way he feels.”

“Liam,” Zayn says patiently, eyes imploring, “How does Harry feel?”

He tries to say it calmly, resigned, but his voice cracks straight in two. 

“He’s not-” _Inhale._ “He’s not- he doesn’t- with me... anymore.” Liam whispers, jerky and unfinished, feeling his face fall. 

“ _Oh, Liam._ ” Zayn murmurs, moving his hand to put an arm around him, pulling Liam in until his face is in Zayn’s neck, his cologne warm and musky.

“I’m sorry,” Liam chokes out, and he realises then that his face is wet, Zayn’s collar damp. Liam pulls away, wiping at his face, “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Liam.” Zayn says, running a hand through Liam’s hair comfortingly. Louis’ on his other side now, hand on Liam’s back, face stern and unforgiving.

“I’m not fucking joking, Liam. I’ll kill him. Dump him in the Thames like I’ve always said I would.”

Liam barks out a laugh, broken and wet.

“Thanks, Lou,” he says, because it’s all he _can_ say, the memory of Harry falling asleep in his arms bittersweet, “I’ll be alright. Just-” He inhales deeply, weak, “Had a moment.”

Zayn pulls him in again, and Liam lets him, eyes stinging as he lets it out.

They put him to bed later, embarrassingly enough - Harry nowhere to be seen, of course. Liam thinks he’s done with it, that he’s accepted it. But the empty space next to him echoes in his head, images of mornings woken to Harry’s face coming one after the other, like a waterfall of happiness Liam can no longer feed, drying up until it’s merely rock and air, no rushing current and no drop into the river below.

Somehow it’s worse when Liam wakes to Harry sliding between the sheets, _2:47_ blinking at him from his bedside. His back’s to Liam this time, and it’s that which makes Liam close his eyes again, like it’s the final nail in the coffin.

He breaks one of his promises to himself the next night, sitting tight in some dusty pub in the East End that reminds him of The Borderline - because Liam is first and foremost a masochist - with a pint in his hand and a heavy heart. Ellie sits with him, and she’s glaring mulishly at the table they’re sitting at.

“Fuck men,” She states vehemently, frowning once she realises what she’s said, “Except you, I mean. _Fuck_ men.”

Liam just gulps down another mouthful of warm, flat beer.

“Let’s run away together, yeah?” She says, leaning her forehead on his shoulder like she’s too tired to hold her head up herself, “The paps would have a field day.”

“They would,” Liam chuckles dryly, bitter and sad, “Andy would probably give me a ring, shout at me a bit.”

“ _Fuck Andy_ ,” Ellie seethes, and Liam feels a pang in his chest for the mess the both of them have become. Four years ago - maybe even one year ago - things seemed so simple. Happy. “He can fucking rot in hell. I don’t care if he’s sorry.”

Andy may have been Liam’s friend before Ellie was, but there’s a reason Liam’s sitting with Ellie in a pub and not her ex-boyfriend.

“Fuck Andy!” Liam exclaims, clinking his glass against hers and sculling it down. He wipes his mouth once he’s done, grimacing at the bitter after taste.

He gets up after another five minutes, heads to the bar for another drink, and comes back with two. Ellie thanks him, and there’s more silence before Liam breaks, his thoughts racing through his head quicker than he can catch them and focus on one particular thing. 

“We always joked about it, you know,” Liam sighs, swirling the dregs of his beer around in his glass. Ellie looks at him, her face pitying and sympathetic and all the things Liam hates to see in his friends. They did enough of that before Harry – they don’t need to do it now, too. “Turning thirty.”

“Thirty’s overrated.” Ellie mumbles, taking a sip. Liam feels her free hand grab his under the table, though, and his heart throbs. That shouldn’t be Ellie’s hand. That should be Harry’s, squeezing, his voice in Liam’s ear teasing him about how old he is, how Harry’s his sugar baby, or how Liam’s a cradle robber, or something utterly outlandish like that which would make Liam snort his beer through his nose in laughter, sinuses stinging. It should be Harry sat beside him, beer in hand, mouth sticky and warm against Liam’s own. It should be fucking _Harry Styles_ next to him, loving him, holding him, taking him home.

It’s completely bizarre, Liam feels, that they’re here now. It almost feels like ten years ago, sans Andy. The two of them drinking in a bar - though it’s not a weeknight - talking shit and generally acting like miserable twats because they were newly twenty and they had a right to act like miserable twats.

The realisation that Liam will be thirty bloody years old in only nine days hits him, then; but it’s gentle, more of a playful slap than the freight train he always feared. He’ll be thirty, and he needs to stop fucking around and moping and hoping that Harry will fall back in love with him.

 _You’re not quite thirty yet,_ a traitorous voice tells him, speaking up from the deep recesses of his mind, a dragon waking from slumber.

The photos from that night are splashed across the front page of Monday’s _Daily Mail_ \- the digital front page, anyway, Ellie groaning at him through the phone as he stares at his computer.

“I’m too hungover for this, Liam,” she croaks out, and Liam’s own head aches in sympathy - although he is most definitely just as hungover, maybe worse off than his friend. “Why’d you have to duck your head in close like that? Drunk arse.”

The picture looks damning, but Liam knows. He knows that even at their worst, Harry would never believe he’d sleep with someone else, let alone _Ellie._

A message comes through on his laptop, and the Harry [banana emoji] hasn’t changed in all this time. The _Beautiful xx_ underneath doesn’t feel genuine, though. That’s what’s changed. 

He opens up their messages from the notification just in time to see that Harry’s sent him a link. To the Daily Mail article. 

“ _Fuck off!_ ” Liam exclaims, and it’s loud and uncaring and he’s never felt such rage inside him as he does now, Harry’s sarcasm and complete and utter lack of care for Liam’s feelings setting fire to his blood and inciting a new fury within him.

“Alright, Hulk,” snarks Ellie, “I was fucking joking.”

“No, not you, Ellie.” Liam responds automatically, eyes roving over the screen, hoping Harry will send something else. “Sorry, sorry,” He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, “Harry’s just sent me a text.”

“Oh,” Ellie’s voice is shocked, a little awkward, “Well, forget him, yeah? Not today. Today you drink your weight in water and you binge watch _Bake Off_ , your favourite. I’ll be going for _Buffy_ myself.” 

Liam can’t forget him, though. He’ll never fucking forget Harry, no matter how much he tries, _that’s_ the _fucking_ problem. Harry’s like some sort of… ingrained memory. He’s in the fibre of every thought, the origin of every emotion. Harry’s so deeply entwined in Liam’s DNA that forgetting him would be like forgetting himself.

He offers a quick goodbye to Ellie before he rings off, dropping his phone onto their bed - _their bed_ \- and typing in Harry’s Twitter URL. 

It’s the usual stuff: light promo for his upcoming album, things that don’t even make sense to Liam because Harry likes to be mysterious, the pretentious wanker; but something pulls him up. It’s dated from the third of August.  

 **Harry Styles.** @Harry_Styles  
Two six.  
4:07 PM – 3 Aug 2023

He stares for a minute before he continues to scroll down, the back of his throat burning, and sees a picture of the two of them, something he vaguely remembers Harry snapping back in June, Jelly wedged between them with her tongue lolling out of her mouth. He stares at it for longer than he feels he should admit, transfixed by the soft expression on Harry’s face as he gazes at Liam, his curls held back by one of his old school headbands; transfixed by the way Liam’s got his eyes squeezed shut in mirth, no doubt at Jelly’s absurd pose; transfixed by the picture in its entirety, a glimpse into a life so far from his reach right now.

 _Death of a bachelor._ Harry’s written as the caption, and it links to his instagram. Liam clicks, eyes blurry. The picture appears again on the new page with a whopping 4,148,374 likes, and comments that make Liam nearly bite straight through his bottom lip.

 **horastyles** omg??????????  
**hesljpnjh** i hear them chapel bells ringing  
**lemsh** [heart eyes emoji]  
**noraexplora** lol gross  
**hushstylleshush** if they get married im going to SCREAM!!!! [two men holding hands emoji] [two men holding hands emoji] [two men holding hands emoji]  
**liamplsfollowme** tel liam 2 fllw meeeee  
**jellybellystyles** im dead pls pay for my funeral  
**liam___styles** HOLY SHIT ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED IM GONNA FUCKING DIE WHAT THE FCKKKKKK 

There’s thousands like this, and Liam can’t even process it. How the fuck did this happen? How did they go from that, to this? To Liam perusing his boyfriend’s social media like a stranger? To the silence, the sarcasm, and the way Liam feels like his heart’s bleeding out right in front of everyone, a sick form of entertainment for _The Sun_ to document, paps taking photos of the way it pumps weakly in fits and starts right in front of them, asking him for _more, more, more, tell us everything, Liam; who was that woman in the supermarket? Are you getting married, Liam? Why is Harry partying without you? Why haven’t you been seen together in public in over a month? Liam? Liam? Liam, Liam, Liam,_ Liam?

He shuts his laptop harder than he means to, tears in his eyes and his heart no longer in his chest.

 _This is it,_ Liam thinks detachedly, _This is where we end._

The next week’s a blur. He sees Harry a few times, quick kisses to cheeks to appease him before Liam leaves for the gym, or goes for a walk with Jelly through the park much to her confusion. She doesn’t need that much exercise - greyhounds don’t, couch potatoes that they are - and so the two walks a day is a conundrum she just doesn’t understand. Especially when it means he’s taking her away from her other dad, one who lets her kiss his face and feeds her extras under the table when he thinks Liam isn’t looking. The dad she probably prefers.

Well, she’s got Liam, and he’ll have to do.

It’s on Monday, after a week of old reruns of _Bake Off_ alone, Harry humming this one tune under his breath over and over and making Liam go mad, and Liam spending more time at the gym than he does sleeping, when Zayn bursts into their house with his spare key and demands that Liam come out with him that afternoon.

“Lou’s driving me up the wall,” Zayn grumbles, pulling at Liam, Jelly looking disgruntled by the fact her pillow is standing up, “And I need some time away from the company of Pez. She’s on a rampage about some photographer not booking her, and I just don’t _care._ ”

“Nice to know I’m third choice,” Liam snarks, but he’s smiling. Zayn’s not the kind of friend to play favourites, and he’s thankful if anything for the space he’s given Liam after the embarrassment of being tucked in like a child. Sometimes Zayn seems to know him too well.

“The arcade?” Liam asks, eyebrows raising once they walk in, the neon lights flashing. It’s not its prime time - probably the reason Zayn dragged him here - but they’re getting a few odd looks considering they’re both well into their twenties (Zayn already past them) and entering a games arcade aimed to provide entertainment for teenagers.

“Yeah, bro,” Zayn says, giving Liam’s shoulder a punch like they’re twelve or something. Must be the atmosphere getting to him. “This place is wicked. I haven’t been in, like, a year or summat.”

“Date night?” Liam asks dryly, looking around.

Zayn stares at him, shocked. “How’d you know?” 

Liam laughs, shaking his head in fond exasperation. He’ll never understand Zayn and Louis as long as he lives, but they seem happy at least. He tries not to think of his own relationship. He doesn’t really understand that, either. 

They muck around with a few of the older games first - classics like _Pacman_ and _Donkey Kong_ \- before they move on to the newer ones, titles Liam is too old to be familiar with. 

It’s fun all the same, and Liam feels his shoulders drop incrementally with every point he scores against Zayn, with every cackle as Zayn scores against him. It’s nice, this; spending time with one of his best mates and pretending like he’s a normal guy, someone in their twenties with time to kill and not enough money to do much else apart from go to the arcade. Zayn’s childish glee is hilarious to witness, too, and he gets the strange sense that maybe this is how Louis fell in love with him, neon glinting off his leather jacket as his face scrunches up in mirth, jeering at his opponent and gloating about his win. It seems like the kind of thing Louis would do - fall in love like this.

He’s about ready to leave though, the lateish hour getting to him - _It’s only ten, you old man,_ a voice sounding suspiciously like his boyfriend echoes in his head - and his worries about his dog are as good of an excuse as ever.

“Let’s stay, Liam,” Zayn urges, tugging on his forearm like he’s a child whining at a parent, refusing to accept Liam’s excuses, “C’mon, a few more games.”

“Zayn,” Liam sighs, running a tired hand over his face. Everything seems too bright, too much, right now, “I really don’t feel like spending my last night as a twenty-nine year old in a games arcade. I feel old enough as it is. Let’s just go home, yeah? We can have drinks there, watch a film maybe. Jelly’s probably bored out of her mind, chewing up the sofa or something.”

Zayn looks uncomfortable, like he’s just witnessed two people fucking in a public bathroom, or like Louis just slapped him in the crotch for fun. It’s sad that Liam knows both of those things have happened.

Liam moves toward the exit with a sigh, Zayn tapping furiously on his phone behind him. The drive home is short, but Liam has trouble taking the tube when he’s not by himself – Zayn would attract eyes even if he wasn’t famous, and it’s easier to drive even if it makes him feel like an arrogant wanker.

Zayn still looks uncomfortable as he lets Liam unlock the front door. It’s dark outside now, so the house’s closed curtains make it hard to see. Liam flips on the light even before he’s fully opened the door.

“SURPRISE!”

Liam rears back, jumping. His living room is filled to the brim with people – mates from his years as a fill-in drummer, his sisters with their husbands down from Wolverhampton, Sophia and Eleanor, some of the Hush crew he’s got along well with, Ellie, and a few other famous people he is honestly shocked bothered to come. He even thinks he sees Niall somewhere, brunet head bopping up and down amongst the crowd.

He’s hugging everyone he can, smiling wide, breath still a little shaky at the surprise. He’s laughing a little, thanking them all.

And then, of course, there’s Louis.

His grin is wide, teeth showing, but Liam reads the nerves on his face well enough. They’ve known each other too long for him not to, and when he takes another look around the room, he realises why.

Liam feels his heart squeeze painfully, his limbs heavy with a dread he didn’t realise had been there. There’s a resignation there, too. Like Liam’s been expecting this. For how long, he’s not sure – could’ve been since that night in 2013, or maybe since Harry came home bright-eyed and beautiful in 2018, talking about a world arena tour. There’s always been something in Liam that knew, somehow – that realised something like this was inevitable.

“He’s not here,” Liam states, and he can tell he sounds a little empty, “is he?”

“We waited as long as we could,” Zayn says quietly, the party roaring around them, music now playing given the surprise element is over. Vaguely, Liam sees Sophia hanging off of Eleanor, a little tipsy already. “I delayed you nearly two hours.”

“Forget him,” Louis urges, waving his hand manically as if trying to be nonchalant. He’s failing spectacularly, and the fact he even has to pretend at all makes Liam’s head hurt, stuffed full of cotton, a strange stinging in his eyes. “We’ll have fun regardless, Payno!”

He’s not wrong, but something in Liam breaks a little just then. An old wound coming to life, forgotten through the years of birthday blowjobs and late-night whisperings.

He’s been so spoiled.

He doesn’t lose himself in alcohol, like he so desperately wants to. He has a drink, if that, and spends the night bouncing from person to person in an attempt to shake off the probing eyes of Louis and Zayn. He’s fine. _Honestly._ No one else’s noticed that maybe he’s holding his half-empty glass a little tighter than is warranted, knuckles white. No one else has noticed that his smile probably isn’t reaching his eyes. Liam’s fucking _fine._

Once it hits two o’clock, everyone seems to want to go home. It’s an older crowd, all of them in their thirties - including Liam, _holy shit_ \- and so the night doesn’t feel young. In fact, it feels old, and Liam’s happy to see them go, thanking them for coming and giving them hugs as goodbyes. He must’ve imagined Niall, because there’s no farewell from him by the time the last two - Sophia and Eleanor - almost topple out the door, giggles following behind them as they clamber into their cab. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay with us?” Louis asks once they’ve cleaned up the best they can, frown on his sharp-featured face, a contrast to his floppy fringe and messy hair, “We’ll put you up in the spare room. No sex,” Zayn looks offended at that, “Promise.”

“Nah,” Liam waves them off, giving them an exhausted smile, “I’ll be okay. See you tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Birthday brunch,” Zayn reminds him, clapping him on the shoulder before kissing his cheek in parting, “Like always.”

Liam waves them out the door, and then gets ready for bed.

It’s about half past three by the time he’s settled in bed, Jelly at his legs, absently scrolling through Twitter in a daze; not entirely sleepy just yet despite the tiredness that radiates through his very being.

It’s about then that he hears the front door open. There’s a moment when Liam considers turning his light off and pretending to be asleep, hoping that maybe Harry will ignore his too-quick breaths and tense silhouette.

 _Why should you pretend?_ An insidious voice whispers in his ear. _Why should you make him feel better about the fact he’s been a complete twat?_

So he doesn’t. And when Harry opens the door to their bedroom, he freezes in the doorway.

“You’re up,” he says dumbly, eyes wide. He’s wearing a soft plaid shirt red in colour with the sleeves rolled up; something old of Liam’s it looks like. His jeans are a faded black, and his white socks look absolutely comical on his goofy feet. “Happy Birthday.” 

Liam stares at him, uncomprehending.

“I’m just-” Harry smiles faintly, gesturing to their en suite.

Liam can’t stop staring at him, his legs feeling like they’ve been swept out from underneath him even though he’s sitting on _their bed-_

“That’s all?” Liam probes weakly, internally flinching at the way he sounds small and meek.

Harry stops his shuffle to the bathroom and turns his head toward Liam. He looks lost, suddenly. It’s like he doesn’t know what they’re talking about, or how Liam feels, or why Liam’s upset- _how can he not know why Liam’s upset?_

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Liam laughs, but it’s not funny. He whips the covers off of himself, Jelly looking at him in askance. He’s pulling on a t-shirt that was lying on the ground - that’s evidence enough that Harry, clean freak that he is, hasn’t been around - and grabbing a bag from their wardrobe, all the while saying “That’s almost worse. I thought - maybe he just thought it was a different day; or maybe he’s going to surprise me later, and this has all been one big joke because I’m turning thirty. Ha ha, very funny, I’m so relieved.” He’s panting now, stuffing randoms bits of clothing into the duffle he yanked from some shelf. “But you _forgot-_ ”

Suddenly, Harry’s taken a hold of Liam’s arm, firm grip on his bicep to turn Liam towards him.

“I _didn’t_ forget,” Harry stresses, eyes wild, “ _I didn’t._ And I _wouldn’t_ joke.”

Liam breaks; he feels his face crumple in despair, a weird sort of grief flowing through him.

“Then why didn’t you come?” he asks, pleading.

Harry’s green eyes dart between Liam’s, his own face sad and forlorn.

“I just- I thought you wouldn’t want me there.” He sounds young, so very young, and Liam fights the urge to hug him like he usually would at that tone.

“Haz,” Liam starts, tone laced with weariness, “What are you on about?”

Harry lets him go to run his hands through his limp hair, face tight with tension.

“I thought-” Harry smiles, but it’s a pathetic sort of smile, “Well, you’re breaking up with me, yeah? Who’d want their soon to be ex-boyfriend at their birthday party?”

It’s like Liam’s thoughts screech to a halt, his brain frozen in a tangled mess of _breaking up with me,_ and _ex-boyfriend,_ and flashes of Harry out clubbing with some random guy’s hand on his back, of Harry in the studio day in, day out, not saying a single word about this until now, on Liam’s _thirtieth fucking birthday._

“You huge fucking knob,” Liam chokes out, Harry frowning down at the carpet underneath their feet, “I’m not breaking up with you.”

He looks up at that, taken aback. “Liam-”

“No,” Liam grits out, rubbing his hands over his face quick and rough until he feels he’s rubbed it raw, maybe rubbed it clean off, “You’d have thought we would’ve learnt our fucking lesson, but apparently not.”

“You didn’t say it,” Harry blurts out, bringing a hand up to worry at his bottom lip, face pale and nervous, “You didn’t tell me you loved me.”

Liam’s heart breaks then, but it’s not for himself, or even for them. It’s for Harry.

“I say it every time,” says Harry thickly, dropping his hands as his eyes well up, “No matter what, I say it.”

Liam opens his mouth to speak, but Harry continues on, a few tears falling and landing on the carpet silently. Remarkably, Jelly still sits on the bed - though her head is cocked to the side, her eyes curious.

“And then,” Harry chuckles, wet and raw, “Then you held me, and you- I was _crying,_ and you didn’t even say it then!”

“You were crying?” Liam chokes out, thinking of that night and the way Harry was still shaking after, his back to Liam’s chest. His hitched breaths...  

 _Oh, God…_  

“I know we’ve been off,” Harry says, some more tears falling. With every one that slides down a cheek, Liam feels like an absolute bell-end, the worst kind of boyfriend. “I just wanted to get this album out and then I... I thought we could go away, maybe.” He exhales heavily through his nose, frustrated, “Or _something,_ I don’t know. I’m still so in love with you, and it scared me when we drifted. Then those pictures-”

“You told me you didn’t look at that stuff.” Liam interjects without thinking. Harry rolls his eyes, swiping at his cheeks.

“Well I lied, Liam, alright?” He frowns, jaw hard, “I didn’t want you to think I doubted you. I don’t. That text was stupid and childish and I was so _sad-_ ”

Liam pulls him in, resting a hand on the back of his curls as Harry’s arms come around his waist, crushing them together tight and desperate.

“I’ve missed you,” Harry murmurs into Liam’s ear, embracing him more strongly, “I’m sorry, Li.”

“I should’ve said something,” Liam insists, still holding onto Harry tightly, “I always do this. Haz, I’m sorry.” He pulls back to cradle Harry’s damp face in his hands. “Haz, you know I love you. I’m in love with you, so much.” Harry smiles, eyes glistening, dimples nudging up against Liam’s thumbs. He brings his hands up to frame Liam’s, his touch tender and yearning. They kiss, then. Short and sweet, Liam feeling like every weight has been lifted off of his shoulders when their lips touch. He feels like he can breathe again, the stress of everything between them dissipating like smoke on a windy day.

“I bloody let Dani get to me,” Liam grumbles after they separate, remembering that day almost a month ago now. Harry’s hands rest on Liam’s hips, blunt nails digging in slightly. “Christ, I’m such a twat.”

“Dani?” Harry frowns, considering, “You mean your ex-girlfriend?”

“The pictures,” Liam says, and Harry’s face darkens for a second before clearing, “The ones in the supermarket?”

“That was Dani?” Harry asks, his Northern accent suddenly coming out in full force, “She’s pretty.”

“Yes.” Liam says, staring at Harry in a way that makes him tamp down a smug smile.

“Not as pretty as me, obviously.” says Harry flippantly, and Liam kisses him before he can say anything else stupidly endearing.

When Harry’s hands creep into Liam’s joggers a minute later, he has to pull away.

“I love you, truly,” he says, leaning his forehead on Harry’s left shoulder, “But I’m absolutely knackered.”

There’s a pause before Harry bursts out laughing, pushing Liam back to glimpse his face and guffawing anew. 

“Love,” he says once he regains his breath, “You _do_ realise how you just sounded?” 

“Oh, sod off.” Liam scowls at him, shoving him away. He pulls the barely packed duffle off the bed for Harry to clean up later and crawls between the sheets, pretending to sulk but secretly thrilled, his heart beating hard and hot in his chest at Harry’s teasing. There’s probably some sort of weird psychological analysis for this reaction, but Liam’s past caring. Harry’s in love with him, and he’s teasing him about his age, and everything is _right_ again.

Harry forgoes his shower to shuck off his jeans and button down, folding them carefully onto the chair for used clothes in the corner of the room and hopping into bed in nothing but his boxer briefs, navy with a white waistband.

They stare at each other for minutes, or maybe it's hours, before Liam speaks again - a quiet murmur so as not to disturb the sleeping dog at the foot of their bed; she’s somehow understood that they’ve made up, and is sleeping soundly, snores faint and soothing. 

“Brunch tomorrow.”

Harry smiles, tracing Liam’s left ear with his right hand.

“I know. Birthday brunch.” He pauses, a small dent appearing between his eyebrows, “The lads don’t hate me, do they?”

“Maybe just a bit,” Liam says, and Harry groans softly, closing his eyes and flipping onto his back like a drama queen. “It’ll be fine! I’ll protect you, yeah? Not like you need protecting.”

Harry turns his head to grin at him, sweet and beautiful.

It turns out Liam’s not exactly right, but he’s not wrong either.

“Oh, _this_ wanker!” Louis exclaims as they approach their table the next morning, and Liam grips Harry’s hand more firmly, trying to tell him he’ll deal with it.

“Enough, Lou,” Liam tells him, dragging Harry down into the seat next to him. Zayn’s leaning back in his chair, squinting at them both. “Haz is fine, alright? We sorted it.”

“Well, _we_ haven’t sorted it.”

“When will you admit you’re fond of me?” asks Harry, curious, as he rests his arm on the back of Liam’s chair.

“Shut up.” Louis hisses, snarling, bringing up his menu so he doesn’t have to look at the younger man.

“Not helping.” Liam mutters, ignoring the amused smile Harry hides into Liam’s shoulder.

The brunch goes well, all things considered. Louis warms up after their entrée, Zayn’s hand in his lap (Liam doesn’t want to know what they’re doing) seemingly a contributing factor. Harry’s tentative at first, being overly polite after his initial prod at Louis; but soon he’s ribbing Zayn for his diet just like Liam, even if he orders a kale salad that makes Louis spit out a scathing remark.

Zayn and Louis gift him with two tickets to some dance party in Ibiza, exclusive and so very _not_ thirty of them.

“We booked them before, like,” Zayn quirks his lips, sailing past the awkward moment with all the grace of a newborn giraffe, “But it should be fine, now.”

“One last hurrah,” Louis explains, eyeing up Harry sceptically, “It’s for next summer, so…” He trails off meaningfully, looking at Harry smugly now.

Harry’s face is frozen, and Liam grins.

“Sounds good.” Liam tries not to laugh as he puts the envelope in his jacket pocket.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t get him anything,” Louis starts off menacingly after a halted moment, “You right-”

“I got him something!” Harry exclaims, indignant, “Of course I got Liam something. It’s just-” He looks at Liam, suddenly nervous, “It’s not here.”

“Oh?” Louis snaps, crossing his arms. Zayn rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his mojito. “Where is it, then?”

“It’s, erm,” Harry glances at Liam again, playing with his cutlery. They’re waiting on their shared dessert, something Harry clearly wanted but didn’t feel like he could order alone. Liam won’t be eating any of it - too stuffed full of lamb to do that - but Harry doesn’t need to know that. “It’s at the studio.”

A beat.

“Of fucking course,” Louis says, trying not to smile as he rolls his eyes, “You wrote a fucking song. I’m not surprised, honestly.”

Liam’s charmed. He’s charmed at brunch, and he’s charmed when Harry asks him to come to the studio after he’s paid the full bill - the sentiment is what counts, more than the money; Liam could tell Louis still wasn’t impressed - and they’ve said goodbye to Zayn and Louis. He’s still charmed when Harry pulls him into the engineer’s room, sound desk lit up. He’d met Harry’s new producer on the way in, and Harry had said they’d need the room alone for a bit. Liam’s nervous now, wondering what Harry’s written for him. The other songs he’s done had always been subtle - about someone, yes, but vague enough to be relatable to the general public.

“Alright,” Harry’s hands hover nervously, and Liam sits down in the seat Harry places behind him, “Perfect. You stay there.”

“Sure, babe,” Liam agrees, smiling, “When you’re ready.”

Harry decides to lean against the desk, eventually. He takes the headphone cord out of the jack, and makes sure it’s loud enough for them both to hear the different levels before he hits play.

[As soon as it starts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R03cqGg40GU), Liam laughs.

“Jazzy.” he comments, and Harry dimples at him as his own voice comes through the speakers, sultry and smooth.

“I'm walking the long road,” he croons amongst brass, “watching the sky fall. The shine of your tie, blinds my eyes; how do I live?” The long note makes Liam huff out a laugh, pleased and wanting to burst in with praise at the first vocal break.

“The death of a bachelor, oh, oh-oh!” Liam feels dizzy a little at that line, his head spinning as Harry bites his lip, “Letting the water fall. The death of a bachelor, oh, oh-oh! Seems so fitting for,” Liam’s staring at him now, mouth agape, “Happily ever after! How could I ask for more?” His voice cracks in the recording, and Liam frowns, knows this can’t be the final copy, “Lifetime of laughter, at the expense of the death of a bachelor…”

The song goes on, Harry’s voice cracking in each chorus, and Liam’s heart is bursting. _Feels like my heart is going to burst…_

“Haz,” he says quietly once the the brass cuts off abruptly, “I…”

“I’ve been playing around with a more classical feel for this album,” Harry rushes to explain, pushing off the sound desk as Liam stands, walking over to look at the screen in wonder, “This song is perfect, but I can’t hit that high note.” Liam looks at him, still feeling a little stunned, overwhelmed at the thought of Harry having penned this song months ago, back in June. That he was thinking about this even then, when those good days weren’t so common.

Harry’s warm hand clutches Liam’s elbow gently, and his eyes ask something of Liam he’s not entirely sure he can translate.

“I thought you might sing it,” proposes Harry quietly, breaking the silence, “Your range is higher than mine.”

“You're joking.” Liam retorts habitually, shaking his head.

“For this, it is.” Harry urges, pulling on Liam’s elbow so they’re facing one another fully, hips barely a foot apart. “I wrote those parts for you.”

The admission nearly makes Liam stumble back in shock, the hair on his arms standing on end.

“This is me saying I’m in love with you, Liam,” Harry tells him, eyes wide and green, and Liam thinks of a song years old now; _[time is standing still, dive down deeper still…](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L4GrDOOIIbk) _ “And I’m with you, ‘til the end of the line.”

“Harry!” Liam laughs, eyes crinkling, “Christ, you’re an idiot. I can’t believe you quoted _Captain America_ at me in the most romantic moment of my life.”

“You love that film, though.” Harry explains, grinning, pulling Liam closer.

Liam shakes his head, his reply lost in the press of their mouths, a hopeless effort considering their grins, laughing softly into each other’s faces.

“D’you think we could? Here?” Harry asks breathlessly, right hand gripping Liam’s waist with intent.

“It’s Abbey Road.” Liam states, flat and incredulous.

“Right,” Harry says, trying not to grin like a little kid, “‘Course. What was I thinking.”

“Maybe later,” Liam acquiesces after a moment, Harry grinning even wider, “Play me the song again, though. Need to learn the lyrics.”

The subtle acceptance makes Harry’s grin turn soft as he gazes at Liam for a long moment.

“Death of a bachelor,” Liam mutters as Harry turns to start the song up again, “Since when were you a bachelor, anyway? Pining away for me for five years and then stuck with me for another five.”

Liam’s sure Harry’s loud honk of a laugh can be heard even through the soundproof walls of Abbey Road Studios, the song he wrote for Liam coming in over the top with perfect timing.

It’s not their end, this time. Might not ever be, Liam realises as he puts on headphones and sings into a microphone, the lyrics Harry wrote in front of him.

“Happily ever after!” Liam sings, that high note a killer, something he’ll have to try a few times to get it right. Harry’s smiling at him through the glass, though, face happy and fond. “How could I ask for more?”

 _Yeah, alright,_ Liam thinks, his chest fluttery and his heart floating as he looks at Harry, _I’ll take it._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys liked it! Eager to hear your thoughts in the comments. :)


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